KDUNK

Dear Lili,

Thank you for being you today.

I had so much fun just waking you up this morning. I walked in and you were in your bed still lounging on your back playing with the tag on your teddy bear. You looked calm and happy. I sat by your crib looking down to you and resting my chin on the edge talking to you and hanging out for ten minutes. These are the small things I appreciate about being your Mom. I know Dad does too because yesterday morning Dad did the same thing and the whole time I was in the kitchen thinking, ‘Wow. She sounds so calm in there – happy as a clam.” And when I came in and saw Dad resting his chin on the edge of your crib talking to you doing the same – I knew why.

I wanted to confess something to you about myself lately. I’ve made a commitment to spend less time on the internet messing around with brainless passtimes and more time focusing on some creative projects such as writing. So far so good. Yesterday I wrote for 45 minutes and the day before 30 minutes. Instead of reading trashy magazines before bed I downloaded podcasts of my favorite authors reading from recent works and went to sleep with words of inspiration floating around in my head instead of the faces of Brad and Angelina. As a result I feel my creativity coming alive again and I credit the support of your amazing father and of course you.

When I became pregnant with you Lili, I noticed many differences in my life but one of the more extreme ones was I finally had a voice. An out loud voice. For years I’d been great on paper but rarely spoke up to say what I really thought about things. The first time it hit me that I had changed was when I was a few months pregnant and in an important meeting at work. Out of no where my stomach growled and I politely but aggressively excused myself to the room saying, “I’m hungry. I need to run and get a bite to eat but will return shortly.” No one blinked an eye.

To you this may not seem like a big deal but for me it was the start of nine fantastic months of finally speaking up for myself in many areas (not just hunger) in my life. I felt empowered, alive, real, grounded in what I was feeling, what I needed and took action to get it.

The last ten months have been amazing being your mother. But it was only recently that I noticed the light in me start to fade a bit. Less laughter. More clutching. More organizing. Repetition. I’ve been putting you first (rightly so), keeping the house tidy (necessary) and putting other important life functioning things on the front burner leaving no time for me. This is no one’s fault but my own. Your father couldn’t be more supportive in encouraging me to take a day off to write when I don’t have work work or run and get a pedicure or meet a friend for a drink. But when I brush off the offers they seem to pile up without my realizing it and then I’m left at 11PM roasting and blending organic squash at night with a feeling that can only be described as forgetting something very important on my to-do list…what was it… oh yeah – me.

In a last ditch attempt to get myself creatively focused I am taking a vacation from internet related pastimes which are serving as fun awesome distractions from what I really want to be doing.  I considered putting this web site on pause but I can’t because it also keeps me alive and going and is an important record for both you and me. The goal is to do less so I can do more.

I’m trying this for one month. Who knows. Wish me luck. And hey – don’t think this gets you outing of eating squash. Not only will I still be roasting it and making you eat it – I just may write about it.

xo

Dear Lili,

Your grandmother is visiting – aka ‘Nonna’(Dad’s Mom).  She is the best guest ever because she just hangs out with us all no matter what we are doing. For example today we had to go to our storage space and jam it with more crap and bring more crap home. Nonna strolled you around the storage space halls while Daddy and I dealt. Good times. We were also all starving.

Currently we are all hanging out on a rainy afternoon while you are sleeping. I asked Nonna some inspiration for today’s blog and this is what she said word for word:

blog about our day…

we went to the storage locker…

we had a picnic in the car…

we all took naps…

we played on the floor…

we read magazines…

and surfed the web.

Dear Lili,

You are almost ten months old! Seems hard to believe.

Yesterday all day long you were making this funny, funny sound over and over again. Rarrr. Rarrr. Rarrr – in a deep throat raspy growl. As a ‘joke’I asked you yesterday, “What are you a lion, Lili?”

This morning when you woke up I went into your room where you were totally babbling and playing and laughing. When I walked in you stood up and with your little head peeking over the edge of the crib I said,

“Good morning Lili! Hey Lili – what does a lion say?”

You paused. Your eyes got wide and your face got serious. And then you said,

“Rarrr”

I laughed so hard. And continued to ask you about 50 more times only 3 of the times you delivered. Gabby your babysitter said you did the sound most the day making her and all of her friends laugh.

Dad said at least we finally know what you can be for Halloween.

Today I went for my annual OBGYN exam – a visit with the woman who delivered Lilian. She has since moved hospitals uptown to Roosevelt which was a bummer since St. Vincent’s was downtown and easy for Brooklyn people to get to. But she swears it is better.

This was my first visit since she moved uptown and I finally made my way there in the pouring rain despite running a tad late. When getting ready to go this morning I almost bagged on the appointment enitrely. I don’t know why. I guess the thought of putting real clothes on and trucking it uptown in the pouring rain on a crowded train for forty five minutes there and back to spread open my legs in a cold room for fifteen minutes was less than appealing. But then I decided it was best to get it done and over with.

When I arrived the waiting room was jammed and stuffy. There was no room anywhere to move. There were too many chairs in the waiting ‘area’which was the size of a tiny bathroom. The nurses behind the main desk were crammed into a very small space. Two of them had bad colds. The basket of pencils on top of the desk also looked crowded with one too many Sharpie markers. Not to mention the handful of super round bellies all around the room of women in various stages of pregnancy.

Instead of feeling annoyed by this situation for some reason I felt elated suddenly. I realized – woah – I did this already. I was that lady over there with her husband’s sweater tied around her waste. I was once that woman over there – getting impatient for someone to call her name while devouring a snack. Overall being there I just had this comforting sense that I now belonged to this club of women that physically have endured this amazing, crazy, complicated, wild ride of pregnancy and then birth and here I am finally out the other side feeling sexy and badass in my own skin and ok…pre-pregs jeans.

The exam itself went quick and easy. I love my doctor and as usual her warmth and interest (I briefly scrolled through some recent photos of Lilian on my ipod for her) were genuine. Before I left she couldn’t resist a little OB humor and said,

“Ok! So I’ll see you in a year! Unless…” (sly grin)

Lili,

Here are a list of things in your room:

• White mesh hanging shoe rack on the back of your door serving as the diaper holder

• A baby monitor that sounds like static at all times and that I sleep with next to my skull at volume ten (yes…still) and that Dad has never heard once in his entire Dad-hood and often likes to say, “Wow! She slept through the entire night without waking up once, huh?!” and I stare at him with dagger eyes

• An old wooden desk that Dad and I argue over keeping every year for the last five years (his not mine)

• A small basket full of tiny stuffed animals including a beanbag crab, Snowy from Tin Tin, an elephant from Mexico, a giraffe from Guatemala and a soft teddy from Grandma Jane

• A fab b&w print (copy) of Gary Winogrand (Dad’s idea – and a good one)

• A small vintage 50′s style wooden dresser full of clothes and clothes and more clothes. You are better dressed than I am

• A vintage Humpty-Dumpty lamp similar to one I had as a child

• Old photographs of various family members – your Grandpa Harvey & Great Aunt Lorna as young children, your Great grandmother Carol holding me as a young baby, your grandmother Jane (my Mom) as a tiny baby being held by your Great, great grandmother who is sitting with your great, great, great grandmother, another picture of your grandmother Nancy holding your father, another one of your grandfather John (my Dad) being held by his mother Mary, etc. I love all of these…want more…

• Travel crib (made mostly of foam and netting): currently set up as your main bed because you had too many ‘bashing your face into the wooden bars of your normal crib’type injuries as of late and we need to protect you a bit until you get more stable.

• Normal crib: a portable crib I purchased early on thinking it would be great for your tiny, tiny room yet despite the label saying ‘good until 2 yrs of age’your legs are practically touching the end already at almost 10 months of age!

• Changing table – that totally wobbles as if it will come crashing down. We don’t know why. Perhaps it is because it is a total piece of crap that needs to be replaced.

• 2 metal filing cabinets: these hold Dad’s camera equipment and stuff. Poor guy – it’s the only 2 inches of space he is allowed in entire apartment

• Rocking chair and ottoman (see former blog post) – and your first monogrammed item from Cousin Megan which is the most adorable pillow with animals on it

• Small vintage side table that houses your creams, wipes, etc and down below your basket of many, many books – several we look forward to reading to you when you are older – many are our favorite books as a child that we have found at stoop sale and second hand shops. So what if you’ll need a Benadryl before reading some of them because they are musty…

• A coat hook with animals on it with your tiny hooded sweatshirts hanging from it which I have to say is pretty darn adorable considering they are the size of a dinner napkin practically. This coat hook once had your coming home from the hospital outfit on it – an odd choice on my part – a white velor track suit (?!) that was more P-Diddy in style than little cute and cozy but was the only thing I could find in your tiny size

• A vintage style hanging print my friend Becca gave you of a stork carrying a baby – but not in a cheesy way – an old drawing

• A Diaper Dekor diaper pail that you need a PHD or three beers and a valium to have the patience to change the bag lining for

• A tiny colorful wastebasket from Mexico

• A light switch that matches your coat hook with little animals on it. Each time we leave the room I say, “Off?” And you take your tiny little chubby hand, place it on the switch, turn your head towards me and with a sly smile go… CLICK. Lights out.

Dear Lili,

I hate to report – but the past few weeks have been mostly about bumps, blood and bruises. Sigh. Don’t get me wrong. I knew that being a parent would require crossing the various stepping stones of kid injuries. I just wasn’t prepared for how slippery the rocks would get.

Your Dad and I had our first major scare with you several weeks ago. I think I only am able to write about it now because it felt so traumatic at the time. I think secretly your Dad and I thought people would also think we were bad parents! When in truth this right of passage seems to be something all parents go through.

We were strolling around Brooklyn on our way home from a lovely day out and about. We stopped in to get some Mexican take out. You and Dad were outside about to get a diaper change from your stroller and when I emerged through the door I heard THUMP – the sound that can only be compared to the sound of a cantaloupe falling on the sidewalk. The ‘cantaloupe’sound was your head – your little soft baby skull hitting the sidewalk – falling from your stroller. Being the wiggle worm that you are you literally slipped out of the straps when being attempted to get a diaper change and landed face down and rolled over on your back on the hard cement. I thought…I was going…to die.

I picked you up immediately and you were crying so so so hard – the kind where you are silent and purple in the face – eyes darting. You clung your little body to me. I (wrongly) screamed at your father, ‘How did this HAPPEN?!!!!” Two cops standing a few feet away saw your fall and ran over. One cop pulled out his cell phone to scroll through photos of his own kids to distract and calm you (or me?) while the other cop called an ambulence. I heard him on the phone,

“Got a baby here. Nine months. Fell about a foot and a half from stroller and landed on cement. We need an ambulance here right away to bring her to the hospital for tests”

If I ever get cast in a role for a movie playing a mother in distress after their child has been injured I will be saying, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god you’re ok oh my god oh my god shhh shhh it’s ok honey it’s ok…shhh shhh oh my GOD oh my GOD” – my ramble could only be compared to when I was in labor. Animalistic. Odd, uncontrolled volumes. Trying to remain calm but scared.

The ambulance came. I jumped inside still clinging you to my chest. Your poor father waited outside with the stroller and the Mexican take out. The cops told him to meet us at the hospital which lucky for us was about three blocks away. The EMT team checked you out on the ride over and said the good signs were you started to cry right away when it happened and that there was no ‘blood in your ears’– ok dying. Please don’t talk about blood in my child’s ears. After seeing you start to calm down and act more like yourself playing with the EMT’s hand I let the tears fall and felt like an idiot blubbering my way to the hospital as he calmed me saying Dad and I were good parents and not to worry – this happens to the best of us.

When we arrived at the hospital the best possible team took care of you. Poor Dad couldn’t find us for a while and when he arrived was a nervous wreck. We waited as doctors and nurses came to observe you and ask us questions. Between their visits with you we would hear them working with another family behind the curtain adjacent to ours. It was a family gathered as a team of doctors attempted to suck a hair bead out of a small boy’s nose as he screamed bloody murder, ‘MAMA MAMA MAMA’.  The curtain after that housed another family dealing with a small girl with a broken arm after fighting with her brother over a video game control. Dear God. Is this only the beginning we thought to ourselves?

After an hour or two of observation they declared you good as new despite the face scratches and soon to be lumps and bruises. We left the hospital with a packet titled in bold type ‘HEAD INJURIES AND YOUR CHILD’. We were told to observe you throughout the night looking for vital signs every few hours by tickling your feet, etc. Needless to say it was the longest night of our lives.

Since that day Lili you’ve had two bloody lips, scratches here and there and yesterday evening a near miss injury on your eye falling face first towards the sharp corner of the bookshelf where the foam pad had just fallen off leaving you with a lump and bruise so so so dangerously close to your lower eyelid. Too close for comfort if you ask me. Sigh. The insane thing is I WAS HOLDING ON TO YOU. You are just at this crazy age where you are still finding your balance and what seems to be a normal attempt to do something – reach for a book, etc. – can result in a spaz wipe out that sometimes none of us are prepared for.

I am a nervous mother not a calm one. But hang tight little baby. You do your best and I’ll do mine. We’ve got a looooooong way to go.

xo

Dear Lili,

Hello from Maine.

Your father and I got engaged here. We spent our honeymoon here and now we took you here. When you are older you will most likely not appreciate the natural beauty and wonder of this place and will instead blame us for taking you away from your skater boyfriends. For now we are bigger than you. And we are taking advantage.

As I type this I am sitting at a beautiful wooden desk overlooking the lake. You are asleep upstairs in about 200 layers of fleece (’tis the season!). Your father is on a hike in the woods. And I’ve built a fire in the fireplace and am doing my best not to freak out that something bad will happen as I am here all alone with you in the woods. Like we might run out of water. Or the fire will get insane. Or Dad will fall down a mountain. Or… Hey, sue me. I never went to camp. My family was too co-dependent to send me but I did get a Girl Scout badge for good babysitting. So there.

We’ve had a nice family vacation so far. We let you sit on the kitchen floor smashing wooden spoons against pots and pans. We have been on beautiful drives. We read books by the fire. We let you play with all the pinecones and leaves you ever wanted. We went moose hunting. We saw a wild turkey. We saw cows and horses – things you’ve only seen from books on your bookshelf. And we even let you sleep in our bed a few nights despite bashing us in the face with your fists and kicking and twisting around in circles until you fell asleep. I still think your favorite time and maybe mine too was playing outside at the worlds most beautifully, clean and sprawling children’s playground with only a handful of kids and a view of the forest and a beautiful river. This ain’t no Brooklyn kid.

You are doing so much lately. I’m sure it seems boring for everyone else to read but I think it is important that I record it before I forget.

Clapping: the day before yesterday you started to clap. Just like that. We were winding around the roads of Maine looking at horses and cows and making stupid animal sounds like good parents do when they are sleep deprived and have nothing more to talk about.

Yes/No: You are shaking your head yes (and kick your legs at same time) when you like something like…pizza. And you most DEF are shaking your head NO when you do not like something as in oh I don’t know…everything else on the planet to eat including big people food in addition to baby mush. Sigh. Many kind mothers have reached out to me that you will eventually eat and for me not to worry. So until then…

Teeth: You now have 6. Now use them.

Standing: You can pretty much stand on your own when leaning against something. You stand in your crib the minute we put you in and 27 returns to your room later you eventually crash and fall asleep. Sometimes you bust out a downward dog and then get up to a standing position from there which is kind of wild. Soon I will send you to Vancouver to take your Aunt Christine’s yoga classes but for now – you are an inspiration.

CHEESE: Every time Dad and I bring out the camera you make this crazy face where you scrunch up your nose and show all your teeth and squint your eyes. I don’t know who taught you this but I feel it is karmic payback for ruining all the photos my grandmother ever attempted to take of me as she said in each and every one I made funny faces.

Overall you are a joy to be around. You are the light of our lives. Sometimes you are a terror. Since being in Maine we’ve already have three minor (thank god) injuries – one involving a bloody mouth in Walmart (don’t ask), another a lump on your head after falling down on the corner of a metal bookshelf in the local library and the third…I can’t even remember. All I know is you’re leaving blood all over this town.

As a parent I am trying my best and doing my best to remain calm during this bumps and bruises. I know every kids goes through them and this is only the beginning. As one teen Mom told me in the local Maine grocery store here while we were waiting for Dad to emerge, “You think this age is bad! Wait until 2!”